The Wedding Deception. Kay Thorpe

       CHAPTER THREE

      UNUSUALLY for her, Jill was up and about by eight, impatient for the promised phone call. She would eat no more than a piece of toast for breakfast, and kept an eye constantly on the kitchen clock.

      ‘Surely he must have told them by now!’ she burst out when nine o’clock had come and gone. ‘I mean, where’s the point in waiting any longer?’

      ‘I don’t suppose his parents will be around all that early, considering his father’s condition,’ Claire suggested. ‘Give him time. I’m sure he won’t let you down.’

      She mentally crossed her fingers as she said it, not at all certain that she was right. Ross had had a whole night to work on his brother. Who could tell what persuasions he might have employed?

      With the sun shining outside for once, and the temperature more in keeping with the time of year, it should have been a morning for good cheer, but cheerful was the last thing she felt. Whatever happened, Jill’s whole life was going to be so different from everything she had hoped for her. Eighteen was no age at which to be landed with a child, whatever the circumstances.

      ‘I’m going out to mow the lawn,’ she announced, unable to bear the inactivity. ‘You could come and do a spot of weeding, if you like. You’ll hear the phone ring if we leave the window open.’

      Jill shook her head. ‘I might not.’

      Claire sighed and gave in. Obviously nothing was going to shift Jill far from the telephone until she had received the call. It was only to be hoped that it would come soon.

      Wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, she went out and manhandled the ancient mower from the garden hut. It was almost ready to give up the ghost altogether, but with care it should just about see out this growing season, The modern hover mowers were so much easier, both to use and to maintain, by all accounts; next spring’s budget would have to stretch to one.

      Standing on his patio, contemplating his beautifully landscaped expanse of garden, their next-door neighbour lifted a hand in greeting as she wheeled the heavy machine into position for the first line of cut. The Johnsons were in their fifties, and had been very supportive during these past few years, but they had family of their own to care about. Their daughter, Susan, had been married a year, and was expecting her first baby in October. The way it should be, Claire reflected.

      But that isn’t the way it is, so stop carping and accept it, she told herself firmly. People could say what they liked, think what they liked. All that mattered in the end was that Jill was all right.

      With the mower going, she didn’t hear the phone ring. But Jill’s emergence from the house, looking radiant with relief, was enough to confirm that the call had indeed come through.

      ‘They want to meet me,’ she declared. ‘You too, Scott said. I told him we’d drive over this afternoon.’ Her laugh was carefree. ‘So much for all Ross’s spouting on about what it would do to his father!’

      Leaning on the mower, trying not to let her trepidation at the thought of facing the Laxtons en masse gain too much ground, Claire said carefully, ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re in total agreement with what’s to be done.’

      ‘Scott said they are.’ She paused, her face clouding a little. ‘At least, he didn’t say they weren’t.’ Her expression firmed again. ‘Anyway, they should be thankful we didn’t just go off and get married without telling anyone at all.’

      Claire considered her with drawn brows. ‘You actually thought of doing that?’

      ‘Well, it would have saved all this, wouldn’t it? A fait accompli it’s called.’

      ‘I know what it’s called.’ Claire hardly knew whether to believe her or not. ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

      She looked at the stretch of lawn still to be cut, feeling anything but enthusiastic about completing the job. Only, if she didn’t, who would? Jill had shown little interest in the garden at the best of times. In any case, should everything work out as planned, she wouldn’t be here much longer.

      It would seem strange to be on her own, Claire thought, depressed. Jill might not be much of a help around the house but she was someone to come home to in the evening, someone who made cooking a meal worthwhile. Life would be very empty without her.

      She was running on ahead of herself again, she acknowledged at that point. Nothing was certain until it was an accomplished fact.

      ‘You’d better start thinking about what you’re going to wear this afternoon, if you want to create a good impression,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘There’s that white dress you’ve never had on yet.’

      Jill pulled a face, looking even younger than her years for a moment. ‘I’m not dressing up like a dog’s dinner just to create an impression,’ she stated inelegantly. ‘I’ll wear what I feel comfortable in.’

      What Jill felt comfortable in was either jeans or skirts more like wide belts, neither of which, Claire judged, would suit the Laxtons’ sartorial tastes. On the other hand, what was the point in her trying to conform to a standard set by others? Scott had fallen for her the way she was, and his opinion was the important one.

      ‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘We both will. I’d better get on with this if I want to finish it before lunch. Heaven only knows when we’ll have another dry day.’

      ‘I’ll get lunch ready, if you like,’ offered Jill with a munificent air. ‘You have enough to do.’

      Considering that they were only having tinned salmon and last night’s left-over salad, it would hardly take much effort, but Claire wasn’t about to turn the offer down. ‘That would be a big help,’ she agreed.

      If Jill registered any irony at all, she wasn’t about to let it bother her. Hair swinging, hips slim as a boy’s, she trotted off back to the house.

      Watching her go, Claire felt a moment’s near envy of her sister’s buoyant spirit. So far as Jill was concerned, everything was going swimmingly. She wished that she could feel as confident of it herself.

      Lunch over, the dishes washed and put away and a few other essential odd jobs taken care of, she went upstairs to take a shower and put on a crisp tan and white-striped cotton dress with short sleeves and a narrowbelted waist, sliding her feet into tan leather sandals with her favourite if not particularly fashionable three-inch heels.

      Jill had topped her by the age of fifteen, and was now around five feet seven without the aid of shoes. Attempting to assert authority over someone several inches taller was no easy matter, Claire had long ago realised.

      Not that it always followed. Her father had been a sixfooter, her mother an inch shorter than Claire was herself, but her mother’s word had been law. It was all down to strength of character, she supposed. When it came to any real battle of wills, Jill could beat her hands down any day of the week.

      Which made an absolute mockery of Jill’s claim to have been overruled when it came to choosing which universities to apply to for a place, she thought now, sitting down at the dressing-table to apply a light makeup. Jill had been only too vocal in stating where she wanted to go. That was before she had met Scott, of course. He had changed everything. It was only to be hoped that Claire’s own first impressions of him proved sound in the long run.

      The green eyes looking back at her from the mirror were less than convinced. No matter how much she tried to be optimistic, there was no guarantee that this marriage would last. Scott appeared OK on the surface, but who could tell what he